With a view of the magnificent Taj I order breakfast on the roof top of my hotel in Agra.
"Sir, I'll have a stuffed paratha with curd and chai please."
"Yes madam. Paratha is chapati, you know chapati? Chapati with potato insice."
"Yes, I know." (This information would have been welcomed 3 months ago, but now after having eaten chapati every day for 12 weeks I find it irritating). "I'll have paratha please, and curd."
"Yes, yes, curd means yoghurt."
"Yes, yes. Thank you." I was afraid he would tell me chai meant tea next.
"Ok, madam. What would you like for breakfast?"
AHHHHH. I miss the Indians who just don't speak english. The cities are draining with the constant badgering from rickshaws, "tour guides" and vendors.
There is something to be said though to the fact that I seem to manage to shake them off far faster then fellow tourists, especially those that are new to India. It's a good feeling I guess, to know that I am recognized for knowing my way around and have confidence in my "no."
Friday, June 20, 2008
Welcome back to Delhi
I wake up and the sun is up. Everyone is moving. I ask and yes, we're finally in "Dilli."
I take my time gathering my pack and bag, adjusting my money belt, and making sure I am clear minded before I step off the bus. It's 5:15 am and I have 2 hours before the "Taj Express" leaves for Agra from the Hazrat Nizmuddin Train station. I want an auto rickshaw to get me there immediately. I want as much extra time to find my train as possible, because as I've learned extra time can quickly become no time in India. An auto approaches, I ask how much to the station. 150 rupees. A rip-off. Arman warned me not to pay more than 100 rps for this ride, and that is still a westerners' price. I'm not terribly keen on bargaining right now and I want to leave quickly.
"90" I say.
"No madam. 150. Very good price, 10 kilometers, good price."
The men that were on my bus gather around to haggle for me, but the driver insists on 150.
"90" I say again.
"Madam, 150, good morning price. Early, good morning price." He gestures around to the lack of people, as though his presence is fortunate enough.
"You're right." I smile, "Good morning price. Look, do you see any other tourists, westerners around? It's 5am. I walk away, you take Hindustani, 20 rupees. Or I stay you get 90."
"120, good price."
"90."
"Ok, 100 madam."
"90."
"Ok madam, 90."
I turn to my fellow bus passengers, they look impressed, I wink.
Victory! I just saved $1.50
Now I'm at the station with a blessed stress free hour to kill with some nourishment (I hadn't eaten dinner) and chai (I didn't really sleep). In 4 hours I'll be in Agra, home to the Taj Mahal. I'm so excited. I love traveling by myself!
Though I have to admit, when I woke up on the bus I expected to find Arman next to me, ready for our next adventure.
I take my time gathering my pack and bag, adjusting my money belt, and making sure I am clear minded before I step off the bus. It's 5:15 am and I have 2 hours before the "Taj Express" leaves for Agra from the Hazrat Nizmuddin Train station. I want an auto rickshaw to get me there immediately. I want as much extra time to find my train as possible, because as I've learned extra time can quickly become no time in India. An auto approaches, I ask how much to the station. 150 rupees. A rip-off. Arman warned me not to pay more than 100 rps for this ride, and that is still a westerners' price. I'm not terribly keen on bargaining right now and I want to leave quickly.
"90" I say.
"No madam. 150. Very good price, 10 kilometers, good price."
The men that were on my bus gather around to haggle for me, but the driver insists on 150.
"90" I say again.
"Madam, 150, good morning price. Early, good morning price." He gestures around to the lack of people, as though his presence is fortunate enough.
"You're right." I smile, "Good morning price. Look, do you see any other tourists, westerners around? It's 5am. I walk away, you take Hindustani, 20 rupees. Or I stay you get 90."
"120, good price."
"90."
"Ok, 100 madam."
"90."
"Ok madam, 90."
I turn to my fellow bus passengers, they look impressed, I wink.
Victory! I just saved $1.50
Now I'm at the station with a blessed stress free hour to kill with some nourishment (I hadn't eaten dinner) and chai (I didn't really sleep). In 4 hours I'll be in Agra, home to the Taj Mahal. I'm so excited. I love traveling by myself!
Though I have to admit, when I woke up on the bus I expected to find Arman next to me, ready for our next adventure.
Valley of Flowers
June 13th.
I find my inspiration to write from the flies.
The valley is beautiful, the flowers are gorgeous. The diversity of flies is really quite amazing.
Mana called to my environmentalist nature, the grandeur and remoteness evoked questions of climate change and such. Here in the Valley of Flowers, though I am still surrounded by mountains, glaciers, and waterfalls, it is each unique and completely endemic species I am witnessing that draws my attention, calling to my inner ecologist :)
The flies represent the many needed pollinators to complete the grand task of ensuring that each year the valley will maintain UNESCO World Heritage status for its carpets of wild flowers.
I find my inspiration to write from the flies.
The valley is beautiful, the flowers are gorgeous. The diversity of flies is really quite amazing.
Mana called to my environmentalist nature, the grandeur and remoteness evoked questions of climate change and such. Here in the Valley of Flowers, though I am still surrounded by mountains, glaciers, and waterfalls, it is each unique and completely endemic species I am witnessing that draws my attention, calling to my inner ecologist :)
The flies represent the many needed pollinators to complete the grand task of ensuring that each year the valley will maintain UNESCO World Heritage status for its carpets of wild flowers.
climate change and more...
June 11th.
What seems like an eternal supply of water pours down 400ft in 2 waterfalls behind me. The river passes swiftly below me, channeling between the mountains, fed by various glaciers.
The sheer size and immensity of this landscape, the cliffs, peaks, valleys, meadows, makes it feel endless, infinite. Yet I wonder, how much larger were these glaciers 50 years ago? How much louder were these waterfalls?
We've hiked past Mana, the last human habitation on this route north into Uttarakhand. Here we are in true wilderness. From this point north it is only mountains and what ever biodiversity has found ways to survive this harsh habitat. 60km north is the Chinese/Tibet border.
Yet despite the lack of human existence I can't help questions, what this ecosystem will experience in the next 50 years, 100years. Human presence is no longer physically required to impact the last remaining places we call wilderness on our, now, small Earth. Creating parks and building fences can no longer provide relief. So... now what?
Lately, I've been saying I'm fed up with the USA. I'm ready for a break from the society, politics and I'm tired of how the US is being run. I feel I could easily move somewhere in Europe. But if I'm fed up with how the Earth is being managed I can't just pack up and move...
So I'm here. And ready to make a difference, or at least try. Where do I start?
What seems like an eternal supply of water pours down 400ft in 2 waterfalls behind me. The river passes swiftly below me, channeling between the mountains, fed by various glaciers.
The sheer size and immensity of this landscape, the cliffs, peaks, valleys, meadows, makes it feel endless, infinite. Yet I wonder, how much larger were these glaciers 50 years ago? How much louder were these waterfalls?
We've hiked past Mana, the last human habitation on this route north into Uttarakhand. Here we are in true wilderness. From this point north it is only mountains and what ever biodiversity has found ways to survive this harsh habitat. 60km north is the Chinese/Tibet border.
Yet despite the lack of human existence I can't help questions, what this ecosystem will experience in the next 50 years, 100years. Human presence is no longer physically required to impact the last remaining places we call wilderness on our, now, small Earth. Creating parks and building fences can no longer provide relief. So... now what?
Lately, I've been saying I'm fed up with the USA. I'm ready for a break from the society, politics and I'm tired of how the US is being run. I feel I could easily move somewhere in Europe. But if I'm fed up with how the Earth is being managed I can't just pack up and move...
So I'm here. And ready to make a difference, or at least try. Where do I start?
Mana
Wow, wow, wooooowwww.
I...
it's...
um.
alright, it's indescribable. Tacky, but true.
I'm in a National Geographic film. I'm on an expedition except without the expedition. It's like I'm on the front cover...
The most I can do to describe where I am is to show pictures, but I don't think they do justice.
These are BFM (Big F***ing Mountains) and I'm in them, in the northern most village, Mana, at the end of the road (literally), in a homestay with the village leader who is one of the coolest, most hospitable men I've ever met.
I'm next to mountain glaciers, rivers, incredible peaks, fields of medicinal herbs, waterfalls...
I'm at 11,000ft elevation.
It took me 2 full days of buses and shared jeeps to get to Badrinath, then we walked the last 3km into Mana.
I could easily be in northern Nepal or Tibet.
I don't think there is anywhere more beautiful in India.
I must say, I am quite proud of myself for my travel plans. And eternally grateful to Ashish for arranging for me to stay with Pitambar.
I...
it's...
um.
alright, it's indescribable. Tacky, but true.
I'm in a National Geographic film. I'm on an expedition except without the expedition. It's like I'm on the front cover...
The most I can do to describe where I am is to show pictures, but I don't think they do justice.
These are BFM (Big F***ing Mountains) and I'm in them, in the northern most village, Mana, at the end of the road (literally), in a homestay with the village leader who is one of the coolest, most hospitable men I've ever met.
I'm next to mountain glaciers, rivers, incredible peaks, fields of medicinal herbs, waterfalls...
I'm at 11,000ft elevation.
It took me 2 full days of buses and shared jeeps to get to Badrinath, then we walked the last 3km into Mana.
I could easily be in northern Nepal or Tibet.
I don't think there is anywhere more beautiful in India.
I must say, I am quite proud of myself for my travel plans. And eternally grateful to Ashish for arranging for me to stay with Pitambar.
Road-side Entertainment
I haven't seen a single proper speed limit sign in India in the past 3 months, however I've thoroughly enjoyed their signs to encourage safe driving...
They always provide a smile on long rides.
(Any typos are original, not mine)
"Speed thrills, but kills."
"Sink zone ahead, DDRIVE CAUTIOUSLY" (what's a sink zone?)
"Your care is appreciciciated."
"Drink and drive, dangerous cocktail."
"Drinking whiskey is risky."
"Better late than never."
"Thanks."
"BRO wishes you a safe drive." (BRO = Border and Road Organization, but it's funnier when you don't know this.)
"If married, divorce speed."
"Speed slowly."
"Life is Journey, Complete it."
"Safety Saves."
"Use your head or lose your head, where a helmet."
They always provide a smile on long rides.
(Any typos are original, not mine)
"Speed thrills, but kills."
"Sink zone ahead, DDRIVE CAUTIOUSLY" (what's a sink zone?)
"Your care is appreciciciated."
"Drink and drive, dangerous cocktail."
"Drinking whiskey is risky."
"Better late than never."
"Thanks."
"BRO wishes you a safe drive." (BRO = Border and Road Organization, but it's funnier when you don't know this.)
"If married, divorce speed."
"Speed slowly."
"Life is Journey, Complete it."
"Safety Saves."
"Use your head or lose your head, where a helmet."
Travels
So a lot has happened in the last 2 weeks of travel. I'm not going to attempt to catch up with them here, but enter a couple of my journal entries. You'll just have to come to my fund raising dinner to here more stories in July...
But the schedule has been:
2 days to get up to Mana/Badrinath.
1 day in Mana
1 day to get to Gangria via 13km trek from Govingat
1 day to see Valley of Flowers
2 days walking/busing to get to Rishikesh (including sleeping in Sikh Gudwara for the night)
2 nights/days in Rishikesh resting b/c of bad cold
Evening in Haridwar with a crazy motorcycle ride through the city.
Night bus to Delhi- Morning train to Agra.
1 night in Agra, saw Taj Mahal in the morning, bus to Jaipur in the afternoon.
Now 4 nights in Jaipur to provide:
rest, shopping, mani/pedicure, facial, henna, and a day trip to Pushkar.
Then I bus back to Delhi on the 23rd for my flight that night.
But the schedule has been:
2 days to get up to Mana/Badrinath.
1 day in Mana
1 day to get to Gangria via 13km trek from Govingat
1 day to see Valley of Flowers
2 days walking/busing to get to Rishikesh (including sleeping in Sikh Gudwara for the night)
2 nights/days in Rishikesh resting b/c of bad cold
Evening in Haridwar with a crazy motorcycle ride through the city.
Night bus to Delhi- Morning train to Agra.
1 night in Agra, saw Taj Mahal in the morning, bus to Jaipur in the afternoon.
Now 4 nights in Jaipur to provide:
rest, shopping, mani/pedicure, facial, henna, and a day trip to Pushkar.
Then I bus back to Delhi on the 23rd for my flight that night.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
By the way...
This is our view from Sonopani:
(Photo by my roommate, Amity, who has a better camera than me.)
The Peak is Nanda Devi, the largest mountain in India.
My pictures:
http://picasaweb.google.com/ZyanyaKB/IndiaGeneral
(Photo by my roommate, Amity, who has a better camera than me.)
The Peak is Nanda Devi, the largest mountain in India.
My pictures:
http://picasaweb.google.com/ZyanyaKB/IndiaGeneral
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
I went back.
June 1st.
I’ve come back to Radha’s family for 1 more night with them. I’ve missed them at Sonopani. They all told me they missed me. I spent my first 2 hours back with the kids. I can’t tell exactly if it’s me or my camera they adore more but I’ll take the attention either way. Jagdamba and Garima insist on serving me lunch even though I had just eaten lunch at CHIRAG before I came. It’s impossible to refuse politely so I accept. However, when they bring me out a plate with a heaping pile of fried rice for my 2nd lunch today, I know what to do. I must return half of it immediately because once I’ve touched it anything I don’t eat will be tossed. I make a fuss of it being too much and they allow me to put some on another plate. Now I just must be careful when I finish. A precarious game ensews of them trying to sneak more food on my plate. As long as I keep my plate with me until the kids are finished I’m safe. This time I win, next time I may not be so lucky. Though I don’t complain, the food is delicious. The ingredients are relatively limited and simple, yet the flavor they achieve cooking over a wood fire is incredible.
I sense a stress amongst the 2 women home and when Radha returns I am sure I am right. She is so happy to see me and I her. We embrace and chat. However, soon the neighbors come by and several women gather around Radha asking her questions. She is telling a story with the words “medical report” and “doctor.” I ask if everything is ok, she says yes. I don’t want to push the topic. However, a while later when she is clearly distracted and seems stressed I ask again, she tells me her borther Trilok fell from a tree this morning. Her and her mother brought him to the Mukteshwar clinic. He’s gashed his head, face, arm, and leg. I haven’t been able to understand how serious the injuries are, but he is suppose to return tonight, so I guess I will see for myself then.
Radha’s father died a while back from a heartattack. It is difficult for a family to survive here without a head of household. Trilok has assumed the responsibilities of this role, though not the position, for the family. I’m imagining Radha is reflecting on the loss of her father.
This is a very united family. Each member works very hard for thw hole and they support eachother unconditionally, it is essential to their wellbeing. I’ve seen several families here now, and I can sense a very strong bond and love in this family in particular.
-----
The women and I have spent a good hour examining an American $1 and $5 bill I brought, along with several pictures of my parents and I. They comment that mom and dad look “smart.” Sometimes the British influence really shows…
-----
Trilok has returned, somehow he managed to get into bed facing the wall without me noticing. I can’t see anything Radha as made a home remedy for his wounds. He lies completely still.
The family I knew to be always laughing is mostly silent. I can feel the stress, mourning, and concern infesting the household. I feel like an intruder on the families grief. Radha’s mother is ranting to Govind. It’s an endless speech, clearly full of resent and frustrations. I hear “pani” (water) a lot, I imagine she’s listing all their hardships and saying, “and now this, why this?…” She clears her throat and continues. Govind, holding a sleeping Kushi listens obediently with mounting stress etching across his forehead. 5 min, 10 min, 20, 40… she speaks for an hour. Radha serves tea. With everything happening Radha stil asks me. “Is it too sweet?” “It’s perfect.” I reply.
Trilok sits up to take some tea but faces the wall. I can make out a bandage around his head and a patched eye. I’m praying he recovers quickly and send a text to the group to let them know of the accident. We need Neosporin and a get-well card.
It’s getting dark and the family has resumed boxing peaches to bring to the road. They constuct crates from planks of wood they purchase, then pack them with peaches, newspaper and pineneedles, and nail them shut. Each crate is painted to indicate quality, quantity, and seller. I notice 2 different sizes of boxes. Radha says the smaller size is top quality, the larger box is medium. The boxes weigh about 6 and 14 kilos, respectively, when full.
It’s dark now and various family members take the boxes to the road. 10 year old Rajul carries a 6 kilo box on his head. Radha carries about 20 kilos of peaches on her head up the path that always puts me out of breath without carrying anything. I don’t follow them because I would fall and surely sprain my ankle trying to walk up this path in the dark. I sheepishly return to the house to watch Daviki wash the mud floor with water. I’m confused as to the purpose of this since the floor is a dry dirt and dung mixture, why get it wet?
The peaches they leave on the road will be picked up by large blue transport trucks who will then drop the boxes with distributors in the town of Haldwani, from there they will be sold around the country. The family makes 25rps for each smaller box, 30 rps ($0.75) for the larger ones. I ask Redha how many boxes of peaches they make in a year. She estimates 60-80. I estimate the family brings in about 2000rps in 1 year from peach production (their main crop), minus any costs for pesticides, crates, etc. That is $50. I’ve paid 150rps ($4) per night I’ve stayed here, that is nearly 10% of their profit, per night.
The first time I stayed here I expected a small struggle with Rdha to allow me to pay for staying, however I encountered none. Now I understand, they really need the money. I had though they live a modest/poor life but get by with what they have as long as they work hard to maximize farm output. Now I see that they work hard to maximize output and it is barely enough. I’m amazed Radha manages to go to University in Almora, I can’t express how much I admire her.
I’m sitting in the kitchen writing. Walking in here chokes me from the smoke. But I’ve learned that if I sit down quickly it won’t bother me as much.
They eat dinner later here, though in the case of Radha’s family this seems more out of necessity then tradition. The women are working up until 8 or so, when they can not longer see in the dim light, and that is when they begin to prepare the food. Everyone is in bed by about 11pm and they rise to start another day at about 5:30am.
I’ve come back to Radha’s family for 1 more night with them. I’ve missed them at Sonopani. They all told me they missed me. I spent my first 2 hours back with the kids. I can’t tell exactly if it’s me or my camera they adore more but I’ll take the attention either way. Jagdamba and Garima insist on serving me lunch even though I had just eaten lunch at CHIRAG before I came. It’s impossible to refuse politely so I accept. However, when they bring me out a plate with a heaping pile of fried rice for my 2nd lunch today, I know what to do. I must return half of it immediately because once I’ve touched it anything I don’t eat will be tossed. I make a fuss of it being too much and they allow me to put some on another plate. Now I just must be careful when I finish. A precarious game ensews of them trying to sneak more food on my plate. As long as I keep my plate with me until the kids are finished I’m safe. This time I win, next time I may not be so lucky. Though I don’t complain, the food is delicious. The ingredients are relatively limited and simple, yet the flavor they achieve cooking over a wood fire is incredible.
I sense a stress amongst the 2 women home and when Radha returns I am sure I am right. She is so happy to see me and I her. We embrace and chat. However, soon the neighbors come by and several women gather around Radha asking her questions. She is telling a story with the words “medical report” and “doctor.” I ask if everything is ok, she says yes. I don’t want to push the topic. However, a while later when she is clearly distracted and seems stressed I ask again, she tells me her borther Trilok fell from a tree this morning. Her and her mother brought him to the Mukteshwar clinic. He’s gashed his head, face, arm, and leg. I haven’t been able to understand how serious the injuries are, but he is suppose to return tonight, so I guess I will see for myself then.
Radha’s father died a while back from a heartattack. It is difficult for a family to survive here without a head of household. Trilok has assumed the responsibilities of this role, though not the position, for the family. I’m imagining Radha is reflecting on the loss of her father.
This is a very united family. Each member works very hard for thw hole and they support eachother unconditionally, it is essential to their wellbeing. I’ve seen several families here now, and I can sense a very strong bond and love in this family in particular.
-----
The women and I have spent a good hour examining an American $1 and $5 bill I brought, along with several pictures of my parents and I. They comment that mom and dad look “smart.” Sometimes the British influence really shows…
-----
Trilok has returned, somehow he managed to get into bed facing the wall without me noticing. I can’t see anything Radha as made a home remedy for his wounds. He lies completely still.
The family I knew to be always laughing is mostly silent. I can feel the stress, mourning, and concern infesting the household. I feel like an intruder on the families grief. Radha’s mother is ranting to Govind. It’s an endless speech, clearly full of resent and frustrations. I hear “pani” (water) a lot, I imagine she’s listing all their hardships and saying, “and now this, why this?…” She clears her throat and continues. Govind, holding a sleeping Kushi listens obediently with mounting stress etching across his forehead. 5 min, 10 min, 20, 40… she speaks for an hour. Radha serves tea. With everything happening Radha stil asks me. “Is it too sweet?” “It’s perfect.” I reply.
Trilok sits up to take some tea but faces the wall. I can make out a bandage around his head and a patched eye. I’m praying he recovers quickly and send a text to the group to let them know of the accident. We need Neosporin and a get-well card.
It’s getting dark and the family has resumed boxing peaches to bring to the road. They constuct crates from planks of wood they purchase, then pack them with peaches, newspaper and pineneedles, and nail them shut. Each crate is painted to indicate quality, quantity, and seller. I notice 2 different sizes of boxes. Radha says the smaller size is top quality, the larger box is medium. The boxes weigh about 6 and 14 kilos, respectively, when full.
It’s dark now and various family members take the boxes to the road. 10 year old Rajul carries a 6 kilo box on his head. Radha carries about 20 kilos of peaches on her head up the path that always puts me out of breath without carrying anything. I don’t follow them because I would fall and surely sprain my ankle trying to walk up this path in the dark. I sheepishly return to the house to watch Daviki wash the mud floor with water. I’m confused as to the purpose of this since the floor is a dry dirt and dung mixture, why get it wet?
The peaches they leave on the road will be picked up by large blue transport trucks who will then drop the boxes with distributors in the town of Haldwani, from there they will be sold around the country. The family makes 25rps for each smaller box, 30 rps ($0.75) for the larger ones. I ask Redha how many boxes of peaches they make in a year. She estimates 60-80. I estimate the family brings in about 2000rps in 1 year from peach production (their main crop), minus any costs for pesticides, crates, etc. That is $50. I’ve paid 150rps ($4) per night I’ve stayed here, that is nearly 10% of their profit, per night.
The first time I stayed here I expected a small struggle with Rdha to allow me to pay for staying, however I encountered none. Now I understand, they really need the money. I had though they live a modest/poor life but get by with what they have as long as they work hard to maximize farm output. Now I see that they work hard to maximize output and it is barely enough. I’m amazed Radha manages to go to University in Almora, I can’t express how much I admire her.
I’m sitting in the kitchen writing. Walking in here chokes me from the smoke. But I’ve learned that if I sit down quickly it won’t bother me as much.
They eat dinner later here, though in the case of Radha’s family this seems more out of necessity then tradition. The women are working up until 8 or so, when they can not longer see in the dim light, and that is when they begin to prepare the food. Everyone is in bed by about 11pm and they rise to start another day at about 5:30am.
Monday, June 2, 2008
The real homestay.
May 27th.
So I ended up spending about 3 days, 2 nights with Radha’s family and it was absolutely wonderful.
Her family (in order of family hierarchy):
Her mother – Daviki
Her older brothers – Govind and Trilok
Her older sister – Jugdamba
Radha – 20 yrs old
Her sister in law (Govind’s wife): Garima
The kids: Garima’s daughter – Kushi (3yrs old)
Rajul (Radha’s nephew from another sister, 10yrs old)
Radha has 4 sisters that have been married and now live in their husband’s home.
Observations and such from my homestay:
Radha didn’t know for sure that Garima was pregnant until I asked, and then she asked her mother. She’s 4 months pregnant.
I have to trot down the steep path to the house to keep up with Radha who has a large bucket of water on her head.
Her older sister delegates all chores. They jokingly call her “boss”
The whole family is always laughing. They are concerned about me when I start thinking and looking serious.
They ask me for remedies to help their cracked heels, eyes, skin, etc
I give vitamins to Radha for Kushi’s cold.
Garima knows quite a lot of English. She has studied until 12th class and she is 28, yet inferior in the family because she is related through marriage. She’s really wonderful and I think the family likes her a lot, but she is still the sister-in-law. Radha is quite rude to her, since she is the only one that Radha can actually boss around. It’s difficult to see, because Radha is so sweet yet turns into someone else when dealing with Garima. I’ve noticied Garima only speaks to me in English when no one else is around. As I’m sitting on the kitchen floor eating lunch she pats the earthen floor and says, “Indian dining table.” “The best kind” I reply laughing.
The whole family partakes in raising Kushi, even the men. However when she is very upset she always calls for Garima, who still breast feeds her at the age of 3.
Radha adores her mother, I wonder how long ago her father passed away…
Daviki is a remarkable woman who is unfortunately aging quickly. Radha says she is about 50 years old, but I would easily estimate her to be 60+. She loves her family very much and would do anything for her daughters. Despite not speaking English we manage to communicate fairly well. I’m impressed she has continued to allow Radha to study at University in Almora.
I really hope Radha will take what we’ve learned from the interviews with her for the rest of her life. And that it influences her own choices about her health.
The family adores me. I love that they are willing to let me help. They understand the concept of “homestay” perfectly. Radha is an incredible host. I ate with the men/guests my first night and with the women in the kitchen my second. This is unusual, because the women always eat last and guests should be served separately. All my other meals have been just Radha and I. The family asks me questions, checks in on me and is eager to exchange a laugh. We communicate through food, Kushi, pictures, and Radha. Even though I am Radha’s guest and responsibility, everyone is eager to make sure I am comfortable, both physically and emotionally.
Radha is very apologetic about her house, lack of table, tv, etc. on my first day. But by my 2nd I think I’ve made it fairly clear how comfortable I am by eating with my hands, sitting on the floor, helping cook, and more. She still is always checking that everything is ok, but no longer apologizes.
Jugdamba wants to come to America with me. Her and Radha have both expressed that they will be sad when I leave. Garima asked if I will be returning. I wish I could stay longer. The truth though is that while I absolutely love it here, there are 2 things currently restricting the reality of me staying more nights:
I really need a proper shower.
I am getting mentally exhausted watching how hard these women work, I need a break.
I’m not cut out for hard labor, I can work for a couple hours on a project, but every day, all day, would destroy me. I’m realizing the longer I live (particularly in America), the less capable I am at maintaining the patience for labor and chores. Watching them walking around with 50lbs of fodder or fertilizer on their head makes me nauseous when I try to imagine myself doing it. Sitting in the smoky kitchen for about an hour is my maximum. I don’t know I could even cook a dish sitting as close to the fire as they do.
The women’s feet are all severely cracked here. It starts young. They hike around in plastic flip-flops all day. It looks extremely painful. Again, I’ve been asked if I know a cure.
They have run out of water at their tap and everything they use now must come from the hand pump down the road and carried on their head to the house.
I milked the cow! At night, under the house, in my skirt, standing in cow shit. Jugdamba motions for me to crouch next to her. As I reach out for the udder the one dim light bulb goes out. I’m crouching in ripe fertilizer, surrounded on all sides by 4 cows, in pitch black. We both start laughing hysterically. After a couple minutes Trilok comes with a torch. Oh good, now I can see what I’m doing, now I just have to figure out what I’m doing…
So I ended up spending about 3 days, 2 nights with Radha’s family and it was absolutely wonderful.
Her family (in order of family hierarchy):
Her mother – Daviki
Her older brothers – Govind and Trilok
Her older sister – Jugdamba
Radha – 20 yrs old
Her sister in law (Govind’s wife): Garima
The kids: Garima’s daughter – Kushi (3yrs old)
Rajul (Radha’s nephew from another sister, 10yrs old)
Radha has 4 sisters that have been married and now live in their husband’s home.
Observations and such from my homestay:
Radha didn’t know for sure that Garima was pregnant until I asked, and then she asked her mother. She’s 4 months pregnant.
I have to trot down the steep path to the house to keep up with Radha who has a large bucket of water on her head.
Her older sister delegates all chores. They jokingly call her “boss”
The whole family is always laughing. They are concerned about me when I start thinking and looking serious.
They ask me for remedies to help their cracked heels, eyes, skin, etc
I give vitamins to Radha for Kushi’s cold.
Garima knows quite a lot of English. She has studied until 12th class and she is 28, yet inferior in the family because she is related through marriage. She’s really wonderful and I think the family likes her a lot, but she is still the sister-in-law. Radha is quite rude to her, since she is the only one that Radha can actually boss around. It’s difficult to see, because Radha is so sweet yet turns into someone else when dealing with Garima. I’ve noticied Garima only speaks to me in English when no one else is around. As I’m sitting on the kitchen floor eating lunch she pats the earthen floor and says, “Indian dining table.” “The best kind” I reply laughing.
The whole family partakes in raising Kushi, even the men. However when she is very upset she always calls for Garima, who still breast feeds her at the age of 3.
Radha adores her mother, I wonder how long ago her father passed away…
Daviki is a remarkable woman who is unfortunately aging quickly. Radha says she is about 50 years old, but I would easily estimate her to be 60+. She loves her family very much and would do anything for her daughters. Despite not speaking English we manage to communicate fairly well. I’m impressed she has continued to allow Radha to study at University in Almora.
I really hope Radha will take what we’ve learned from the interviews with her for the rest of her life. And that it influences her own choices about her health.
The family adores me. I love that they are willing to let me help. They understand the concept of “homestay” perfectly. Radha is an incredible host. I ate with the men/guests my first night and with the women in the kitchen my second. This is unusual, because the women always eat last and guests should be served separately. All my other meals have been just Radha and I. The family asks me questions, checks in on me and is eager to exchange a laugh. We communicate through food, Kushi, pictures, and Radha. Even though I am Radha’s guest and responsibility, everyone is eager to make sure I am comfortable, both physically and emotionally.
Radha is very apologetic about her house, lack of table, tv, etc. on my first day. But by my 2nd I think I’ve made it fairly clear how comfortable I am by eating with my hands, sitting on the floor, helping cook, and more. She still is always checking that everything is ok, but no longer apologizes.
Jugdamba wants to come to America with me. Her and Radha have both expressed that they will be sad when I leave. Garima asked if I will be returning. I wish I could stay longer. The truth though is that while I absolutely love it here, there are 2 things currently restricting the reality of me staying more nights:
I really need a proper shower.
I am getting mentally exhausted watching how hard these women work, I need a break.
I’m not cut out for hard labor, I can work for a couple hours on a project, but every day, all day, would destroy me. I’m realizing the longer I live (particularly in America), the less capable I am at maintaining the patience for labor and chores. Watching them walking around with 50lbs of fodder or fertilizer on their head makes me nauseous when I try to imagine myself doing it. Sitting in the smoky kitchen for about an hour is my maximum. I don’t know I could even cook a dish sitting as close to the fire as they do.
The women’s feet are all severely cracked here. It starts young. They hike around in plastic flip-flops all day. It looks extremely painful. Again, I’ve been asked if I know a cure.
They have run out of water at their tap and everything they use now must come from the hand pump down the road and carried on their head to the house.
I milked the cow! At night, under the house, in my skirt, standing in cow shit. Jugdamba motions for me to crouch next to her. As I reach out for the udder the one dim light bulb goes out. I’m crouching in ripe fertilizer, surrounded on all sides by 4 cows, in pitch black. We both start laughing hysterically. After a couple minutes Trilok comes with a torch. Oh good, now I can see what I’m doing, now I just have to figure out what I’m doing…
First night of homestay
I’m confused, conflicted, but content, but lonely. I’m exhausted, I will sleep well tonight in my home stay.
I’m the guest of the son, Kanchan. He’s told me. “You’re very beautiful… I’m very happy.” Should I be expecting a marriage proposal? Probably not but I don’t know how to react to this. When I arrive at my home stay I am directed past the first house which Kanchan dismisses as his family’s and takes me to his (new) house net door. In the guest room we sit on opposite beds, each not staring at the other. His English is limited, but I’m highly unimpressed. Although I can tell he expects me to be, by his new home, by his guest room, by his studies at college in Haldwani, his job as a local teacher, and his apparent command over his family and brother’s wife. And yet, after 2 years in collge and being a teacher his English comprehension and willingness to form his own sentences are highly unimpressive compared to Radha’s who has been studying English for 3 months at university. There’s a young boy running around, peaking at me through the curtains and door. I ask his name and age. According to Kanchan, Gorro is 12. Kanchan tells me he teaches 14 year olds, I can tell the boy is not nearly 12, he confirms with his sister-in-law who passes by. No, the boy is six.
So we sit across each other in silence for at least 45 minutes while it rains and chai is brought in. I want to go meet the family and see the family’s house but I am also very tired. Kanchan leaves to do something a couple imes and always comes back in to sit. I make a couple, in my opinion, excellent attempts at conversation, but they all fail instantly when he answers my questions with a yes or no and nothing else. The best I got was when he said America “is my favorite.” “Why?” I asked. “Because larges houses.” I reply, “Much in America is big, but I don’t think big is always good.” He doesn’t seem impressed with this statemnt, but he is still happy to just sit in his female American guest’s presence. I run away to the toilet for 5 minutes, a cement outhouse with a tin door that has fallen off its hinges. I return and explain I’m very tired, I’m going to write in my journal and nap. “Yes” he syasy, then invites me to watch TV with him. Maybe later I reply. I retreat and lay in bed. I’ve asked that I can help make dinner at 7. I’m not allowed to help but I can watch. That’s fine, at least I can meet the woman of the family, and maybe the kid too.
At 7pm Kanchan returns to ask me to watch his TV. Okay. I give him 30 minutes of him flipping through channels viewing random bollywood music videos. I actually really enjoy this stuff, I find it fascinating and pleasantly mind-numbing at the same time; but not now, I’m not in a home stay to watch TV. I ask him to introduce me to his family. We go next door and I sit down inside. I take in the dimness and smell of the traditional house. No white washed walls, only molded earthen floors and walls, a smoked ceiling, the house is warm from the stove fire. Kanchan explains “Traditional house,” almost apologetically. I node and say it’s beautiful, now he’s confused. I wonder if I’m getting threw to him, probably not. I’m not representing my culture as he expects, and he’s not representing his as I expect. There is a gap here that probably won’t be bridged. His sister-in-law comes in. I don’t understand Hindi, but I feel I manage to place a lot of context, and it helps that I know a couple random hindi words and they use some English for keywords on occasion, both of which I can hear in conversation. He’s told her I want to meet her, she smiles shyly and sits, he tells me she is “my borther’s wife.” I inquire after her name, Hema. I ask a couple more random friendly questions, Kanchan answers.. She’s not very interested in me, I don’t blame her, she has to start cooking and after all, apparently I am Kanchan’s guest, her’s only indirectly.
I move into the kitchen with her and sit out of the way in the corner to observe. What else am I going to do? The boy has lost interest in me, he’s stopped staring. Kanchan joins several minutes later and sits next to Hema sho is making chapatti. Being in this house, with the smoke, watching the chapatti bake and observing I am inclined to make this homestay work, at least another night. I’ll try harder to communicate and participate tomorrow… I sit in silence, waching. A conversation unfolds between Hema and Kanchan. I am fairly confident in my translation…
Hema: “…. TV … nahi…?” (She didn’t want to watch TV?)
Kanchan: “Ha, leken… khana…” (Yes, but she wanted to help with dinner.)
Hema looks at me and laughs, I smile. I wonder if we understood each other for a moment. She asks him, “…Hindi…?” (Does she understand hind?)
Kanchan: “Ney… Ingreza….” (No, she only speaks English.)
Hema: “…?” (Where is she from?)
Kanchan: “… Amrika…” (She’s from America.)
Hema: “…Hindi…?” (So she doesn’t know any hindi?)
Kanchan: “…Hindi…tora tora.” (She knows a little hind.)
At this point I brave it and interrupt, “Ha. Hindi tora tora.” Kanchan looks surprised, Hema laughs. I ask Kanchan how many hours a day he watches TV. After several attempts I secure his proud answer of 3 hours. (By the end of the night I will have observed 4+ hours.) I notice a sly smile on Hema’s lips, I think she understood.
Kanchan and I eat together, separate from the rest of the family. Again, silence. I compliment the food and try a few more questions. I’m disappointed he doesn’t try to ask me anything, his English is not that limited. I’m ok with awkward silence, but I don’t appreciate his complete lack of attempt to engage with me. After dinner he takes the dishes to the kitchen and is about to lead me back to his house, I walk back to the kitchen, stick my head in and say “danyavad” to Hema. She looks surprised and pleased. I say goodnight to the rest of the family (all adult men) and leave. I can tell Kanchan would like me to watch TV with him. I explain I must do school work and go to sleep. He comes into my room with me and sits down. I pull out my journal and pretend to be writing. He sits there in silence, looking slightly awkward. I look up and ask him what he is going to do. He just shrugs. This I don’t understand, and do not feel comfortable with. I ask him if he is going to watch TV, he says yes, but continues to sit on the opposite bed. After several awkward exchanges of me being as polite and indirect as I can, I manage to convey thank you for dinner, he can go watch TV, I’m going to sleep. When he finally leaves the room he reminds me to lock my door. I’ve now decided to move to Radha’s home tomorrow, with Keith’s approval. They all ready made a great impression on me and asked me to stay. I know I’ll enjoy it much more, and gain more from the experience. I know I won’t feel isolated.
Morning is a repeat of last night. I play with a puppy… Shanti, a woman I interviewed two days ago comes to visit. She comes into my room excited to see me. She speaks no English, yet we manage to enjoy a 2-minute conversation about me taking pictures of her and Bina the other day. Yes that was funny, yes I have the pictures, yes I will mail them. No, to CHIRAG, yes I will send them to CHIRAG. She asks me if everything is ok here. I say yes (thik). I tell her I am hungry. She goes outside and talks with Kanchan and his brother (who is a very sweet man, very much in love with his 5 month old daughter, Dia.). It sounds like she is asking why I am in my room, something about chai, and then she asks how long I am staying (the word “tin” is passed around). I come out and she motions for me to follow her to the family’s house for chai. We sit down inside and Hema comes from the kitchen. Shanti talks to her about me, asking her questions. Based on Hema’s reply with words “Iindi” and “English,” I gather Shanti has asked if she has spoken with me and Hema replies with, “But I don’t speak English and she doesn’t speak Hindi.” Shanti responds vibrantly, explaining we don’t need to speak the same language and something about the pictures again. When Shanti and I are left in the room alone together she whispers to me (in Hindi), “you come to my house, I’ll take you to my home.” I laugh and say ok. She laughs too. What an amazing contrast in communication skills.
After I finish breakfast with Kanchan (in silence), I explain that I’m leaving, I’m only staying the one night. I try to blame it on “my leader,” saying he wants me to go to a different house for my project, my work. I don’t want to insult Kanchan. I can tell he doesn’t buy it though, he’s upset. So when we hike up to the road together, before we separate, he asks, “You happy? You happy in my home?” “Yes,” I reply. You have a very nice home and a very nice family.” I say my thank you’s and I’m off to Radha’s to beg her to take me in for the next two nights. I don’t think it should be too difficult. I’m excited.
I’m the guest of the son, Kanchan. He’s told me. “You’re very beautiful… I’m very happy.” Should I be expecting a marriage proposal? Probably not but I don’t know how to react to this. When I arrive at my home stay I am directed past the first house which Kanchan dismisses as his family’s and takes me to his (new) house net door. In the guest room we sit on opposite beds, each not staring at the other. His English is limited, but I’m highly unimpressed. Although I can tell he expects me to be, by his new home, by his guest room, by his studies at college in Haldwani, his job as a local teacher, and his apparent command over his family and brother’s wife. And yet, after 2 years in collge and being a teacher his English comprehension and willingness to form his own sentences are highly unimpressive compared to Radha’s who has been studying English for 3 months at university. There’s a young boy running around, peaking at me through the curtains and door. I ask his name and age. According to Kanchan, Gorro is 12. Kanchan tells me he teaches 14 year olds, I can tell the boy is not nearly 12, he confirms with his sister-in-law who passes by. No, the boy is six.
So we sit across each other in silence for at least 45 minutes while it rains and chai is brought in. I want to go meet the family and see the family’s house but I am also very tired. Kanchan leaves to do something a couple imes and always comes back in to sit. I make a couple, in my opinion, excellent attempts at conversation, but they all fail instantly when he answers my questions with a yes or no and nothing else. The best I got was when he said America “is my favorite.” “Why?” I asked. “Because larges houses.” I reply, “Much in America is big, but I don’t think big is always good.” He doesn’t seem impressed with this statemnt, but he is still happy to just sit in his female American guest’s presence. I run away to the toilet for 5 minutes, a cement outhouse with a tin door that has fallen off its hinges. I return and explain I’m very tired, I’m going to write in my journal and nap. “Yes” he syasy, then invites me to watch TV with him. Maybe later I reply. I retreat and lay in bed. I’ve asked that I can help make dinner at 7. I’m not allowed to help but I can watch. That’s fine, at least I can meet the woman of the family, and maybe the kid too.
At 7pm Kanchan returns to ask me to watch his TV. Okay. I give him 30 minutes of him flipping through channels viewing random bollywood music videos. I actually really enjoy this stuff, I find it fascinating and pleasantly mind-numbing at the same time; but not now, I’m not in a home stay to watch TV. I ask him to introduce me to his family. We go next door and I sit down inside. I take in the dimness and smell of the traditional house. No white washed walls, only molded earthen floors and walls, a smoked ceiling, the house is warm from the stove fire. Kanchan explains “Traditional house,” almost apologetically. I node and say it’s beautiful, now he’s confused. I wonder if I’m getting threw to him, probably not. I’m not representing my culture as he expects, and he’s not representing his as I expect. There is a gap here that probably won’t be bridged. His sister-in-law comes in. I don’t understand Hindi, but I feel I manage to place a lot of context, and it helps that I know a couple random hindi words and they use some English for keywords on occasion, both of which I can hear in conversation. He’s told her I want to meet her, she smiles shyly and sits, he tells me she is “my borther’s wife.” I inquire after her name, Hema. I ask a couple more random friendly questions, Kanchan answers.. She’s not very interested in me, I don’t blame her, she has to start cooking and after all, apparently I am Kanchan’s guest, her’s only indirectly.
I move into the kitchen with her and sit out of the way in the corner to observe. What else am I going to do? The boy has lost interest in me, he’s stopped staring. Kanchan joins several minutes later and sits next to Hema sho is making chapatti. Being in this house, with the smoke, watching the chapatti bake and observing I am inclined to make this homestay work, at least another night. I’ll try harder to communicate and participate tomorrow… I sit in silence, waching. A conversation unfolds between Hema and Kanchan. I am fairly confident in my translation…
Hema: “…. TV … nahi…?” (She didn’t want to watch TV?)
Kanchan: “Ha, leken… khana…” (Yes, but she wanted to help with dinner.)
Hema looks at me and laughs, I smile. I wonder if we understood each other for a moment. She asks him, “…Hindi…?” (Does she understand hind?)
Kanchan: “Ney… Ingreza….” (No, she only speaks English.)
Hema: “…?” (Where is she from?)
Kanchan: “… Amrika…” (She’s from America.)
Hema: “…Hindi…?” (So she doesn’t know any hindi?)
Kanchan: “…Hindi…tora tora.” (She knows a little hind.)
At this point I brave it and interrupt, “Ha. Hindi tora tora.” Kanchan looks surprised, Hema laughs. I ask Kanchan how many hours a day he watches TV. After several attempts I secure his proud answer of 3 hours. (By the end of the night I will have observed 4+ hours.) I notice a sly smile on Hema’s lips, I think she understood.
Kanchan and I eat together, separate from the rest of the family. Again, silence. I compliment the food and try a few more questions. I’m disappointed he doesn’t try to ask me anything, his English is not that limited. I’m ok with awkward silence, but I don’t appreciate his complete lack of attempt to engage with me. After dinner he takes the dishes to the kitchen and is about to lead me back to his house, I walk back to the kitchen, stick my head in and say “danyavad” to Hema. She looks surprised and pleased. I say goodnight to the rest of the family (all adult men) and leave. I can tell Kanchan would like me to watch TV with him. I explain I must do school work and go to sleep. He comes into my room with me and sits down. I pull out my journal and pretend to be writing. He sits there in silence, looking slightly awkward. I look up and ask him what he is going to do. He just shrugs. This I don’t understand, and do not feel comfortable with. I ask him if he is going to watch TV, he says yes, but continues to sit on the opposite bed. After several awkward exchanges of me being as polite and indirect as I can, I manage to convey thank you for dinner, he can go watch TV, I’m going to sleep. When he finally leaves the room he reminds me to lock my door. I’ve now decided to move to Radha’s home tomorrow, with Keith’s approval. They all ready made a great impression on me and asked me to stay. I know I’ll enjoy it much more, and gain more from the experience. I know I won’t feel isolated.
Morning is a repeat of last night. I play with a puppy… Shanti, a woman I interviewed two days ago comes to visit. She comes into my room excited to see me. She speaks no English, yet we manage to enjoy a 2-minute conversation about me taking pictures of her and Bina the other day. Yes that was funny, yes I have the pictures, yes I will mail them. No, to CHIRAG, yes I will send them to CHIRAG. She asks me if everything is ok here. I say yes (thik). I tell her I am hungry. She goes outside and talks with Kanchan and his brother (who is a very sweet man, very much in love with his 5 month old daughter, Dia.). It sounds like she is asking why I am in my room, something about chai, and then she asks how long I am staying (the word “tin” is passed around). I come out and she motions for me to follow her to the family’s house for chai. We sit down inside and Hema comes from the kitchen. Shanti talks to her about me, asking her questions. Based on Hema’s reply with words “Iindi” and “English,” I gather Shanti has asked if she has spoken with me and Hema replies with, “But I don’t speak English and she doesn’t speak Hindi.” Shanti responds vibrantly, explaining we don’t need to speak the same language and something about the pictures again. When Shanti and I are left in the room alone together she whispers to me (in Hindi), “you come to my house, I’ll take you to my home.” I laugh and say ok. She laughs too. What an amazing contrast in communication skills.
After I finish breakfast with Kanchan (in silence), I explain that I’m leaving, I’m only staying the one night. I try to blame it on “my leader,” saying he wants me to go to a different house for my project, my work. I don’t want to insult Kanchan. I can tell he doesn’t buy it though, he’s upset. So when we hike up to the road together, before we separate, he asks, “You happy? You happy in my home?” “Yes,” I reply. You have a very nice home and a very nice family.” I say my thank you’s and I’m off to Radha’s to beg her to take me in for the next two nights. I don’t think it should be too difficult. I’m excited.
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